


Woven

by sincerelyleo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Healer Draco Malfoy, M/M, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Multi, Original Character(s), Professor Harry Potter, Remus Lupin Lives, Single Parent Harry, Sirius Black Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13845321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelyleo/pseuds/sincerelyleo
Summary: In which Harry Potter is the best damn DADA professor Hogwarts has ever seen (barring Professor Lupin), the best damn single dad in the known Wizarding World... and maybe the best damn boyfriend Draco Malfoy has ever had.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks pansexualorgana for ruining my goddamn life

It was 6pm on a bustling Friday night in Diagon Alley, and Draco Malfoy was fucking tired, fucking hungry, and fucking ready to get home to his boyfriend-- that was, his bed, where he planned to spend the majority of his weekend burritoed in blankets and eating delivery. If there was one thing the Muggles had perfected, it was the art of having good meals appear on their tables without the use of magic or cooking themselves. Fucking geniuses, the lot of them. 

Finally reaching the front of the line at the apothecary, Draco offered a tired smile to the curly-blonde witch on the other side of the counter and pushed his pile of potion ingredients toward her. "Afternoon, Hilary."

"Hi, Draco. Free this weekend?"

"No, actually, swamped," Draco lied, as he did every weekend, and suppressed an eye-roll. For the eighth time in as many weeks, he contemplated getting "I'M GAY" tattooed across his forehead, but it probably still wouldn't do any good. Hilary was nothing if not persistent; she attempted to convince him to come out for drinks every time he came to pick up his weekly ingredients.

"Oh," she said, looking quite put-out. "Well, if you change your mind--"

"Yes, yes, I know where to find you." Draco dropped four Galleons into her hands, gave her a strained little smile, and grabbed his bag. "Bye, now." 

Quickly, Draco moved to the apothecary door and swung it open. So focused was he on his escape, he didn't notice the small child in front of him. At least, not until it was tangled in his legs and they tumbled to the ground, it with a squeal, Draco with a yelp, and both of them with a resounding _thud_.

"Ow," a small voice whimpered, as Draco groaned and sat up, rubbing his elbow. He looked over, frowning slightly.

"You okay, kid?" he asked hoarsely, and the kid looked his way, rubbing their head. 

"Yeah," they said, in the same small voice, blue eyes wide and a little teary behind a raging mess of bright red curls. "Sorry, mister."

"Don't be sorry," Draco said, struggling to his feet-- damn, he thought he had been sore before-- and extending a hand to help the kid to their feet. "Where's your parents?"

"I dunno." The kid took his hand and clutched it well after they were on their feet. They looked scared. Of course, Draco had to have found a fucking lost child in Diagon Alley. On a fucking Friday afternoon, when the whole place was jam-packed with wizards. Just fucking great.

"What's your name?"

"Ruthie." 

"Who are you here with, Ruthie?"

"M-my dad... And my brother... He's goin' back to Hogwarts and they were getting his books and I got bored... So I went for a walk to find the owls... an' now I'm lost." Ruthie's lower lip trembled, her freckled face pale. Draco sighed. 

"So you last saw them at Flourish and Blotts, then? That's this way. Come on, I'll help you find them."

"I'm not s'posed to go places with strangers."

Draco rolled his eyes-- now was not the time for the little girl to be worried about strangers, as she had apparently taken it upon herself to go traipsing down a street full of them.

"Okay, well if you don't want my help, you can find them yourself then..."

"No, no!" Ruthie squealed, tightening her grip on Draco's hand enough to make him wince. "I guess you're not a stranger, 'zactly... my daddy'll understand, anyway."

Like a charm.

"Okay, miss, let's go." Keeping his grip on her hand, Draco set off down the busy street, sweeping her out of the way of bustling witches and wizards hell-bent on mowing her over. Within moments, it became apparent that her tiny legs would not be able to keep up with his pace; her feet were dragging and she was already panting. Suppressing a sigh, Draco stopped and lifted her into the air, planting her firmly on his shoulders.

Ruthie squealed again, louder and more shrill than any of the previous times, and Draco cringed. Once she was settled, he reached up and grabbed both her hands to keep her steady.

"All right. If you see your daddy, tell me, okay?"

"Okay! You're really tall, mister!" 

Ruthie sounded absolutely gleeful. Draco managed a small grin before carrying on down the street. He hoped he didn't know whoever Ruthie's father was-- with his luck, Ruthie would be one of the Weasley clan. She definitely had the hair for it, anyway. 

"There he is!!" Ruthie wiggled one hand out of Draco's grip and waved it over her head. "Daddy, Daddy! Over here!"

Draco turned to look, and his blood ran cold. 

Oh, no. Ruthie wasn't a Weasley. No, this was much worse.

"RUTHIE!!"

Fucking Harry Potter skidded to a stop in front of him, eyes wide and glasses lopsided on his panicked face. Behind him, panting, was a young boy with blond hair and twice as many freckles as Ruthie, looking just as scared and relieved.

"Potter," Draco said, numbly, pulling Ruthie off of his shoulders and holding her out. "She was outside the apothecary."

Potter took his daughter and crushed her to his chest before setting her down and checking her over thoroughly. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"Nope! This nice man knocked me over, but I'm okay! He helped me find you!"

Potter put his hands on Ruthie's shoulders and pulled her closer against his legs as he straightened up. He seemed to have just noticed who Draco was-- his eyes widened slightly, and he shifted a bit.

"Malfoy," he said, with a small cough. "Thank you. I... Thank you."

"She wanted to see the owls," Draco said, rather lamely, and felt his cheeks color a bit. 

Potter sighed and ran a hand across his face. "Ruthie, I told you we would go see the owls before we left."

"You were taking too long!"

"That doesn't mean you can go running off without telling me! God, Ruthie, you scared me to death!" Potter looked up at Draco again, tired and relieved. "Thanks for bringing her back, Malfoy, really."

"No problem, Potter," Draco said, wondering why the fuck he wasn't making any of the nine or so scathing comments he had in his head, about how the precious Chosen One couldn't keep track of his own kid. Maybe it was because Potter already looked close to tears. Or maybe it was because this was the first time Draco had seen Harry Potter up close and personal in nearly ten years, and Draco was shocked and more than a little annoyed at how goddamn attractive he had become. Of course, Potter had been attractive enough back at school, but now...

Fuck.

"Well... um... Christ, where are my manners? Malfoy, these are my kids, Gilbert and Ruthie. Gil, Ruthie, this is Draco Malfoy. We were, um... we knew each other back at Hogwarts."

Draco almost snorted at Potter's less-than-subtle avoidance of the word"friends," (they had been much more than friends, that last year at Hogwarts, and Potter goddamn knew it) then nodded at the two children. "Hello."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy," Gilbert said politely, while Ruthie just beamed. 

"He's SUPER tall, Daddy!"

Potter flushed bright red and tightened his grip on Ruthie's shoulders. "I see that, peanut. Can you tell Mr. Malfoy thank you for helping you?"

"Thanks, Mr. Malfoy!" 

Draco smiled down at the little girl and ruffled her mass of curls gently. "You're welcome, princess. Say hello to the owls for me, okay?"

Looking back up at Potter, Draco smiled again, softer. "Glad I found her, Potter. See you around."

Draco turned to go, but Potter caught him lightly but the elbow and held him fast.

"W-wait!"

Draco, mind suddenly flooded with memories of the last time Potter had grabbed him like this, almost kept walking. But after a moment, he turned, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Yes, Potter?"

"Can... I..." Potter was still flushed bright red, but now his eyes were pleading. "Can I buy you a drink, later? As a thank you?"

Draco considered him for a long while-- just say no just say no just say no-- then tugged his arm gently from Potter's grasp. 

"I'm free tomorrow afternoon," he said, slowly. 

Potter grinned. "Oh, okay! Um, meet you at... the, um..."

"The Silver Goose," Draco said, still just as slowly. "Five o'clock. Don't be late."

"Right!" Potter grinned wider. "See you then! Let's go, kids."

He led them back down the street. Ruthie turned and waved wildly, a toothy grin splitting her freckled face. "Bye, Mr Malfoy!!"

Draco waved a bit then watched them disappear into another shop before he turned and headed away as well.

Jesus fucking Christ, what the everlasting fuck had he gotten himself into?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put off writing this chapter after all my wedding-crazy died down because it's LONG and there's a LOT of exposition/filler... but I promise it's all necessary and it's the only chapter of its kind; we'll hope straight into the story and stay there after this. Pinky swear. Hope you enjoy anyway, happy reading!

Harry Flooed into Grimmauld Place later that night, on the heels of Gil and Ruthie, and stepped into his godfathers' living room while shaking the soot off his clothes. "Sirius, Remus!"

"Siiiirius!! REEEMUS!!"

Harry palmed Ruthie's face with a chuckle and swung her up onto one hip as Sirius and Remus entered the room, arms wrapped lazily around each other's waists and wide smiles on their faces.

"There's my favorite kids!" Sirius cried, sweeping Gil into a tight hug and then ruffling his hair. Ruthie wriggled and reached out to Remus, who chuckled and scooped her into his arms.

"Heya, peanut," he said, hugging her. "How was your day?"

"I got lost in Diagon Alley!" Ruthie grinned proudly. Remus raised an eyebrow in surprise and looked over at Harry, who tried to suppress a groan. He had hoped Ruthie wouldn't bring up her little adventure to his godparents; it wasn't the thought of them knowing Ruthie had been lost that bothered him, but the thought of them knowing who had found her.

"What? What happened?" Remus asked.

"She wanted to see the owls, so she wandered off without us. Someone found her and brought her back, though. She had me running around Diagon Alley like my robe were on fire." Harry grinned, a bit weakly, and tried to change the subject. "What's for dinner?"

"Who found her?" Sirius asked, smirking. "Cornelius Fudge? Minerva McGonagall? How long of a lecture did you get, Harry?"

"Mr. Malfoy found me!" Ruthie beamed, and Harry froze, closing his eyes for a long moment before half-opening them again and staring resolutely at the floor. 

"... Draco? Draco Malfoy?" Sirius asked, slowly, with a hint of a frown playing on his lips. Harry sighed and raised his head more. 

"Gil, Ruthie, can you give us a minute please?"

"Sure, Dad," Gil said softly, taking Ruthie from Remus and setting her down. "Come on, Ruthie, let's go see if Kreacher is around anywhere, yeah?"

"Yeah! Okay!"

Harry closed his eyes again as the doors swung shut behind his kids. "Listen, guys, I'm not some kid anymore, it was fine, really..."

"Was that the first time you've spoken to him since it happened?" Sirius asked. His voice was much softer than Harry had expected it to be. 

Harry nodded. "Yeah, other than like, saying hi if we bumped into each other somewhere... he usually runs if that happens..."

"Harry... Are you all right?" Remus whispered. 

Harry swallowed thickly. He hated this; he was twenty-eight goddamn years old, he was a father for god's sake, and yet one mention of Draco Malfoy was enough to turn him into some shaking, weepy teenager all over again.

"Yeah," he said, his voice rough and a little shaky. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's just... let's just eat, yeah?"

"Harry—" Remus tried to stop him, but Harry had already left the room, trying to keep his eyes from burning, and wishing more than anything that he wasn't so ridiculously pathetic.

\-----

After dinner, which was tense and uncomfortable and filled with Ruthie's babbling, since no one else has really wanted to talk, Harry quickly collected his kids and Flooed back to his flat. Three long hours later, both Gil and Ruthie were finally in bed, leaving Harry alone by the fire with a glass too full of Firewhiskey and a head too full of painful memories.

Harry and Draco had become accidental boyfriends in October of their eighth year at Hogwarts, after the War. By accidental, Harry meant that they had both tried to throw themselves off of the Astronomy Tower at the same time, which had led to a rather impressive screaming match about why the other shouldn't go through with it, which had led to an angry makeout session, which had led to (really, ridiculously good) angry sex.

And then they hadn't spoken to each other for three weeks, and when they had, it had been to yell some more, make out some more, and then have even more angry sex. 

By the time the second bout of angry sex was almost over, it wasn't really angry anymore. 

And after that, Harry and Draco had never really been seen without each other.

It had been strange, at first, seeing Draco as something besides his arch-enemy, besides a stuck-up, bratty bully. But it had turned out to be one of the most interesting, fulfilling things Harry had ever done, getting to know Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, who liked way too much sugar in his tea, whose favorite color was actually red (don't ever tell anyone I said that, Potter, or I swear I'll murder you and then break up with you), who was ridiculously good at Potions. Draco Malfoy, who liked holding hands all the time, even in the most inconvenient places; who blushed every time Harry called him handsome; who teared up when he received his first-ever Weasley sweater.

It had been perfect, it had been wonderful, it had been... magical, being with Draco.

And Harry should have known it never would have lasted.

Ron and Hermione had accepted his relationship quickly, much to their credit, but the rest of the school hadn't been quite so understanding. Most of the time, Harry and Draco only had to deal with taunts and jeers, cries of "Traitor!" and "Death Eater scum!" yelled at them from the ends of hallways and tops of staircases. It hadn't been so bad, not with Draco's slender, warm hand inside of his, clinging tighter with each word.

But in mid-April, a month and a half before the end of the school year, everything changed.

Harry had been walking down a corridor, alone for once, on his way to his and Draco's private meeting place; an old classroom on the second floor, with a rickety, lumpy desk they had transformed into an equally rickety, lumpy bed. It had been cold and dim and musty and Harry's favorite place on earth.

He still—ten years later—didn't remember much, really. Just a lot of yelling and a lot of bright lights and more pain than he had ever remembered experiencing, all at one time. When he woke up, it was May, Hermione was crying beside his bed, and the words "Death Eater's whore" were carved in small, too-even letters down his right side. On his left side, there had been a Dark Mark, still bleeding even two weeks later.

Harry clenched his fists and took another gulp of Firewhiskey. The marks were still there. Madam Pomfrey hadn't been able to identify the spell that was used to make them; she had only known it was Dark. She had managed to make them less noticable, but only slightly. 

Harry had been released from the hospital wing a week after waking up.

It had taken him another four days to track down his boyfriend.

When he did find Draco, he had been sitting on the lumpy bed in their classroom, holding Harry's Christmas present to him—one of the changed Galleons Hermione had made for the old D.A. days, so they could communicate even when apart—in his hands. He never once looked up.

"Draco!" Harry had said, rushing forward, reaching out a hand toward him. "I've been looking everywhere for you, are you—" 

Draco had flinched back, pulling his hands out of Harry's reach, his hair falling in his eyes so Harry couldn't see most of his expression. 

Just his mouth, all twisted and trembling.

"I can't do this anymore, Harry."

Harry had frozen cold, sentence stuttering to a stop, words turning to a hard lump in his throat. "Do... Do what..?"

"Be with you. I can't do it."

"Draco, what are you talking about?"

"You could have died. They almost killed you." Draco's voice had been so dead, so emotionless, Harry wouldn't have known it was him without watching his mouth move.

"Draco, I'm fine, don't be ridiculous—"

"What about next time? And the time after that, and the time after that? It's not safe for you."

"I don't care about safe! I care about you!"

Draco had stood up then, and raised his head, and Harry's stomach still churned at the pain swirling in his grey eyes.

"You deserve better than a Death Eater, Harry. It's over. I'm sorry."

And with that, he had pushed the Galleon into Harry's hands and sped from the room.

Before today, that had been the last time Harry had spoken to Draco.

Of course, he had run into him a few times since then, at graduation, at a few Ministry functions, at the Silver Goose. Enevitably, Harry would try to make conversation and Draco would sidestep him after a quick nod and small greeting and disappear. 

Draco had done well for himself; after Hogwarts he had gone on to become a Healer, specializing in Potions. He had quickly made a name for himself as one of Britain's most up-and-coming Potions Masters—he had evidently tried to put the horrors of the War behind him by helping as many others as possible with his talents.

Harry couldn't help but admire him.

Harry had had a few boyfriends since Hogwarts, but they had never lasted very long. Usually, once they saw the scars on his sides, they went running in the opposite direction. He had pretty much resigned himself to being alone forever when Gil and Ruthie came along, what was almost two years ago.

Gil had been a small, scrappy Gryffindor with long blonde hair, scabby knees, and a name that didn't fit him any more than the word "girl" had. Harry, Gryffindor's Head of House since he had been hired, had been called into the Gryffindor common room the first night of term but a very distressed young Prefect, who was saying the staircase to the girls' dorms wouldn't let one of the girls climb up.

Harry had pulled said "girl" aside. "Julie, what's the matter?"

"I'm not a girl. I'm a boy. And my name is Gilbert, not Julie."

The words had been angry, confident, but Harry had seen the child's lower lip trembling, tears forming in his blue eyes. 

"Okay, Gil. Okay. I'll fix it. I'm here for you."

Gil had been moved to the boys' dorm that very night. By the morning, his name had been changed on all Hogwarts paperwork. By that afternoon, he had two best friends. A week into the term, he had cut his hair into a choppy mess. Harry had tried to fix it for him, but Gil was too happy to care.

A week before Christmas, Professor McGonagall had called Harry into her office, her face lined with worry.

"Gilbert Thompson's parents have contacted me. They don't want him to come home for Christmas. They've also asked me to tell them whether their younger daughter is on the list of future students."

"Is she?" 

"She is."

"And what did they say?"

"I haven't responded yet. They are very against having Gilbert back in their home."

"Is it because Gil is magical, or because Gil isn't Julie?"

McGonagall had sighed. "I believe it is both. I'm worried that if I tell them their daughter is on the list..."

"That they'll abandon her too?"

"Precisely."

The words had come out of Harry's mouth before he had even had time to consider them. "Tell them I'll take them."

"What?"

"Tell them I'll take them. Gil and his sister. If they don't want to care for their own children, then I will."

McGonagall had stared. "Potter, this is extremely rash, even for you..."

"No child deserves to be hated in their own home," Harry had said, adamantly, and McGonagall had looked at him over her glasses for a very long time, her eyes suspiciously wet.

"Very well, Potter, I will write to the Thompsons."

The Thompsons had written back immediately. They would allow Harry to adopt both of their children, no questions asked.

Gil had taken the news dry-eyed, though Harry was sure he went back to his dorm and cried himself to sleep that night.

"It's all right, Professor Potter," he had said, mock-cheerfully, with distinctly wobbling lips. "They never liked me much. As long as I have Ruthie, I'll be just fine."

Little Ruthie, five years old, red of hair and bruised of cheek, had arrived Christmas Eve, clutching one small bag and a stuffed tiger nearly as big as she was. Gil had hugged her for an hour straight, after Harry had inspected the bruise, tended it gently with a Malfoy-made salve, and made himself four glasses of tea to calm himself down; he had figured becoming a murderer was not the best way to begin his first day as a parent.

Ruthie was energetic bright, gentle, and funny. During the day, she hadn't seemed too upset about losing her parents, but there had been several nights where Harry had had to kneel beside her bed and hold her while she cried. McGonagall had helped Harry magically enlarge his quarters to give her a room of her own. The whole school had quickly grown accustomed to seeing Harry walk down the corridors with Ruthie bouncing at his heels, at teaching lessons with her perched on his hip, or sprawled on the floor by his feet with a coloring book and every color of crayon imaginable.

Harry had been amazed, how quickly he had grown to think of them as his kids. How quickly he realized he would sacrifice anything and everything to keep them both safe. This was how his parents must have felt about him.

It gave him a warm feeling inside.

Ruthie had scared him to death today, scared him more than he had ever thought it was possible to be scared. And then, of course, because she was fucking Ruthie, his disastrous ray of sunshine, she had to be found by none other than Draco-Fucking-Malfoy.

Who, by some divine miracle, Harry now had a chance to meet again.

Harry drained the last of his Firewhiskey with a wry smile and stood. He was putting off going to bed, he knew, but the idea of meeting with Draco was becoming more terrifying by the minute.

"Dad?"

Harry's chest tightened as he turned to face the hallway entrance. He never got tired of hearing that word.

"What's up, peanut?"

"I can't sleep." Ruthie rubbed one eye and clutched her tiger to her chest with her other arm. "Will you come read to me?"

"Sure, peanut." Harry scooped her up and carried her back to her bedroom, tucking her into the blankets with the tiger by her side. He picked up Anne of Green Gables from the bedside table and flipped it open.

"For reasons best known to herself, Marilla did not tell Anne that she was to stay at Green Gables until the next afternoon..."

Ruthie was asleep before he finished the page.

Harry smiled and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Love you, peanut."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to burst anyone's bubble but Gil isn't Draco's lol. Hope you enjoyed anyway. See you next time and lots of love!


End file.
